Two Poems

Poetry / Hannah Sanghee Park

:: Wall ::

You must believe me it means I made this to tell you
I will keep you out I will keep you out of sheer will
I will it to stand. Decision of division. The widow couldn’t
stand the scholar, his need to possess his possessing need.
There is no thing that will keep you out I will lift up stone will
join it fast with mud I will build of you what is wished, and when
it stands my Lord will it stand? It will stand and when I cannot
bear it further then it will be known you will never ask
of me my hand you will leave you will never come back.
Out of mercy the king killed his son, who was mad. Who was made
to rule who could not love his father more who could not love his
subjects. This is the need of desire: nothing more than to consume.
And when nothing more is left to consume the king was at his wit’s
end the prince at his end Out of mercy the king killed his son, who was
dragged, struggling out into the courtyard no will to forgive.
It was July. Sun messy over the ground put into a rice chest
to be buried alive or boiled alive. In eight days he at last died
his body later moved in the stone to soon be a fortress.
I have built of you a wall I will keep you out of mercy. The king
is left to consume of me my hand you who could not love his
need of desire: nothing, there is no thing that I will build of you.
It stands, my Lord no will to forgive. It means I made
need to possess his life in my hands and when I cannot
bear it further mud on a skirt marrying me to the rock
and when nothing more will lift up stone will never come back
into the sea I will go messy over the ground I will keep you out
Father of stone and stone you will never ask what is wished, and when
and when I cannot bear it further Father I will
never come back but you must believe me in: I did this for you.

 

:: Excerpt from Elegy ::

How horribly human
how insensate divine

The life left
when the body bided its time

Summer of savagery
Your god was divine

Sun god above
The word was divine

Torturous men
made torturous rooms

Man is a monster
His heart was divine

You couldn't decode it.
The coda's defined

So go and
divine me
divide id
from mind

Whittle at
what little

providence
divined

Now speak to me of rot.
Now tell me what ruptured in 

someone who was loved
and anything divine.

 

 

From the writer

:: Account ::

These poems deal with loss—where the loss for words eventually becomes words, and perhaps from there it lessens. “Wall” melds a Korean folktale and an account from Korean history. “Excerpt from Elegy” is for a more recent passing, and is indebted to Laura Cechanowicz.

 

Hannah Sanghee Park is the author of The Same-Different, the winner of the 2014 Academy of American Poets’ Walt Whitman Award. The book is forthcoming from LSU Press in 2015. She is currently an MFA candidate in the Writing for Screen & Television Program at the USC School of Cinematic Arts.